Stronger Than Steel
by Ankhara the Weaver
Summary: Eomer makes a political alliance through marriage to the House of Dol Amroth but will the dark forces that conspire to destroy the world of man destroy their union or will they be able to forge a destiny together? Stronger Than Steel is an epic romance, adventure, and fantasy rolled into one, with beloved and familiar characters, mixed with a few new ones.
1. Chapter 1

CHAPTER 1

Lothiriel had expected the cold, but not the piercing wind that assaulted her with its icy fingers, paralyzing her breath and stealing the strength from her limbs. Gasping against the gust that tried to rob her of air, she quickly turned her head sideways, burrowing her nose and mouth into the warmth of the soft woolen wrap that covered her head and neck. Stumbling sideways, her mount seemed to struggle for breath as well and Lothiriel worried for her beloved Dharasha's wellbeing. Reaching out her woolen covered hand, she patted the horse's neck gently, stroking away the fear she felt ripple through her body.

They weren't supposed to have left for another few days. They were supposed to meet the King at the pass so he could escort them into Rohan, but she had left early, thinking to travel slowly and take in the sights of the land that would soon become her new home. When her father had arranged the marriage, she had been frightened. She had met the King briefly at Aragorn's coronation, but they had hardly spoken. She knew nothing of him, but her first impression of him was that he was an intense and fierce man. She was immediately intimidated by him, and if it wasn't for his sister's stories of him, Lothiriel might have been completely terrified. Eowyn, however, upon finding out that Lothiriel was to become her sister-in-law, had invited her to stay with them. Eowyn instantly adored her soon-to-be sister, and knew that Eomer would too. Lothiriel was a ray of warm sunshine. Just the right woman to melt her brother's war-scarred heart. Eowyn could see the fear in Lothiriel's eyes, and so she told her stories of Eomer that she knew would help her see past the rough exterior, to the wonderful man that lay beneath. In turn, Eowyn also secretly sent letters to Eomer, telling him stories of his bride-to-be. Though he never responded to them, other than to say that he loved her and missed her, Eowyn knew that he would be equally curious of his betrothed.

Plans were made quickly, with Eowyn and Imrahil, Lothiriel's father, arranging everything. Eowyn was to escort Lothiriel to Rohan where they would meet her brother at the pass, but then Eowyn discovered she was with child, and Faramir forbid her from traveling such rugged and dangerous terrain. Eowyn had been furious, but knew that Faramir was right, and with tears streaming down her face, she reluctantly said goodbye to her new friend, and told her that she would see her soon, at her own wedding.

With her brothers on missions for Aragorn, and her father unable to leave the Council, she was left to fend for herself. She assured her father and brothers that she was fine, but inside, she was petrified and unsure. Fretting over it for weeks, she decided that she would feel better if she could get to know the landscape and see the beauty of Rohan. Maybe then, she would fall in love with it. At least that could be a beginning, but her decision now put them at risk. Leaving days before she was scheduled to, they were now stranded on the Rohan-side of the mountain and Eomer didn't even know she'd left.

Because of this, the King of Rohan wouldn't know anything was wrong for days, and they would be left to their own survival.

 _Foolish!_ She chided herself silently. Frowning at her stupidity, her thoughts turned immediately to her men and their safety. _What had she been thinking?_

Shaking her head, she shook off all thoughts of self-pity or doubt, and began to formulate a plan.

"Milady," Barator's deep voice, resounded through sound the blowing storm as he came to stand next to her, "We should keep moving."

Lothiriel turned to look at her captain. She could see that his dark eyebrows glistened with ice, frozen on the tips and quickly realized that the group was in danger. Looking around swiftly, she assessed their situation. The snow whipped around them, creating a haze of white. She could only see five feet in any direction and the landscape was now blanketed, making it impossible to locate landmarks. The early storm had caught them unprotected and unprepared, leaving their maps and supplies useless as they traveled toward her new home. This is why Eomer had insisted they escort them from the pass.

Lothiriel had to make a decision and fast. If they continued on, they might become hopelessly lost. If they stayed, they would have to build shelter quickly or they would freeze to death.

Looking at Barator, she called out over the wind, "Bring everyone in. Use whatever we have to clear away the snow and set up the tents. Quickly!"

Lothiriel whipped Rasha's head around and tapped her sides to make her move, calling out to others in her vicinity, "You two! Find as much wood as you can and pick up the horse dung. We can use it to start the fires!"

Not waiting for assistance, she climbed down from her horse and moved quickly to her saddle bags. Grabbing a large scarf, she moved to the front of Rasha and began to wrap her head and face in the soft, woolen material. Loosely, she created a bubble around the horse's nose so she could trap air within that would warm itself with the breath of the animal, she fitted the edges under the bridle so it would hold. Rasha nudged Lothiriel in gratitude, immediately trusting her rider's intent, and Lothiriel rubbed her forehead in acknowledgement.

"Sirion! I need your sword!" She called out over the howling blizzard, her soft voice nearly lost in the turmoil.

Sirion's brows gathered together in confusion before pulling his sword from its sheath and handing it to her, hilt first.

"Thank you." She smiled as she took hold of the hilt. Not even noticing his confusion, she turned and immediately began trudging through the snow, toward a small grove of pine trees nearly 20 feet away. Grabbing hold of a low branch, she raised the sword, and with a surprising strength, she swung at the branch, hacking off the limb near the trunk. Tossing it to the side, she set about cutting off another one, and another one, until she had made a pile of them. Grabbing the thick ends, she tried to bundle them together so she could drag them back to where the men were setting up a camp.

Upon seeing their Lady's intent, Sirion and three others rushed over to take the load from her, but she waved them off.

"There is too much that needs done. I need you to see to it. I have these." Lothiriel responded as sternly as her angelic face would allow for. There wasn't time for argument, so she gave them her best "Princess" voice and began dragging the branches toward them. When they didn't move, she sighed to herself and vowed that she would have to work on her ability to frighten others.

"Please," she said softly to them, "I doubt the blizzard cares if I am a princess or not. It would kill me just the same, so let us pretend for a moment that I am one of you and could die just as easily in this weather."

Hesitantly, the three men turned, Sirion nodding at them to go ahead, before turning back to Lothiriel.

"Milady, the branches are a good idea and the quicker we get them back, the faster we can clear the area. I'm already here so you might as well let me help you…princess or not." He reasoned, trying to be respectful but also not wanting to see her struggle so much.

Sirion had been raised with Lothiriel and her brothers. He had always admired her tenacity and fierce protectiveness, as well as her willingness to get her hands dirty. She was petite, though, and appeared delicate, which made those around her want to shield her from adversity. She, however, always jumped in bravely and without fear; a trait that he much admired. He surmised that being raised with 4 boys, and no mother had definitely given her some interesting personality traits. Though she appeared angelic, she had always been feisty and stubborn, not wanting to be left behind or left out of the activities her siblings were allowed. Her father, however, made sure that she learned the feminine arts as well, hiring a nanny that instilled all of the qualities a Gondorian princess ought to have, though he smirked at her stubborn resistance to some of those and remembered many arguments between her father and her over subjects such as; riding side saddle, or embroidery.

Lothiriel realized the wisdom of his words, and reluctantly allowed him to grab ahold of the branches that were falling out of her bundle.

"Thank you, Sirion." She allowed, nodding at him in recognition of his logic and grateful for his assistance, before again turning toward their encampment.

Using the branches, Lothiriel and several other men, began clearing away the snow as the others erected the tent poles as quickly as they could, unfolding the canvas and furs to create a city of connected tents. The tents were designed to be separate, but with the cold, it was smarter to connect them all into one structure so the fires and warmth of the bodies would help them survive the storm.

Once the largest tent was constructed, Lothiriel went about gathering all of the horses and moved them inside. Taking off saddles and bits, she had Sirion pile them in the corners, while she grabbed the blankets from them.

Speaking soothing words, Lothiriel stroked each one until they were calm enough that she could command them to lay down on the ground and then covered them with their own blankets. Once the horses were settled, she called for Taronil, Sirion's squire, and asked him to stay with the horses and keep them calm. She pointed toward a sack with grain in it and told him that he could give them food if it would help.

Taronil nodded, and before Lothiriel could even see his acknowledgement, she ducked back out of the tent and into the awaiting storm.

Hearing his name called, he nodded one last time at Taronil, before quitting the tent as well.

Eomer stood under the protective log awning of Meduseld's enormous longhouse, watching the dark clouds form over the mountains. He knew that the full-bodied tufts of slate-grey clouds meant snow and the mountains were treacherous enough. His mind went to the party from Dol Amroth and worry began to claw at his heart. Dol Amroth was a coastal city and though the weather was unpredictable, it never saw the kind of icy cold that Rohan knew well. The storm that was now forming over the mountains was earlier than any he'd ever seen and therefore greatly unexpected. He doubted that the valley would see any snow, but the mountain itself would be dangerous to travel.

The original plan was to meet them at the top of the pass and escort them into Rohan, but the way the cloud sat, told him that even the western side of the pass was being pummeled with the early blizzard, and they would be in the middle of it. They were set to meet them in 3 days, which meant that the princess would have already left Dol Amroth and would be at the base of the mountain now. They would be heading straight up into a huge blizzard and he doubted they were prepared for such a trip.

Immediately, Eomer made his decision. Turning, he shouted for Gamling, and strode inside the keep.

"My lord?" Gamling stepped out, answering his lord's beckoning.

"Make ready the guard. We go to meet the princess now." Eomer commanded, while motioning for Haleth to come forward.

"My lord?" Gamling questioned, looking confused.

Eomer turned his head to look at Gamling before answering, "An early storm has hit the mountains. The princess will be caught in the storm and they won't know what to do. They don't get snow in the south." Trying to explain to Gamling, who nodded in understanding.

Gamling quickly bowed, before turning to leave.

Haleth stood patiently, waiting for Eomer to speak to him. Haleth idolized the young king, and was honored when he was asked to become a squire in his house. Haleth had fought bravely at the Battle of Helm's Deep and Aragorn had suggested that he be trained as a Rider. Something that Eomer heartily agreed with. In turn, Eomer had gained an incredibly loyal squire who would do anything to earn his approval.

Eomer smiled at the boy and ruffled his hair playfully.

"I need you to ready my things. We ride to meet the princess early." Eomer stated, his hand resting easily on his shoulder.

"Oh…and your things. You'll be coming with." Eomer smiled at Haleth's excited expression. Haleth was more excited about meeting the princess than anyone, and had heard of her legendary beauty and grace, spreading the tales

Haleth was honored and bowed formally, causing Eomer to smirk. Eomer nodded toward the hallway that led to his rooms and Haleth bounded off.

It took only 30 minutes to get everyone ready to ride and then they were off, quickly making their way toward the mountain pass and the oncoming blizzard.


	2. Chapter 2

CHAPTER 2

Lothiriel huddled beneath the sagging weight of the snow filled canvas. They had thrown as many skins as they could over the top of the main tent but the storm already soaked the canvas, making it heavy with water. The horses were starting to get restless, fighting the ropes that kept them down on the ground. Lothiriel was soaked through to the skin, as she guessed most of the others were, and night had fallen, ice-cold and deadly. She looked around at her men, her brows narrowed in concern. They sat, huddled together, long ago abandoning the other tents for the warmth of bodies within the largest one they erected, but now their teeth chattered and their lips were tinted blue.

Lothiriel stood, wrapping the blanket closer around her in an attempt to keep any of her body warmth close to her. Stepping carefully over the legs of her horse, she made her way toward the firepit in the center of the tent and stoked the fire that had begun to burn low. Looking around, she saw that they had no more wood and began to frantically search the tent with her eyes for anything they could burn.

Looking over at the shivering masses of dozing men, she decided instantly that she needed to do something or they would all die. Grabbing the handle of one of the axes one of them had planted in the ground, she tugged it out and quickly pushed the fur that covered the entrance, aside. Sucking in her breath as the freezing air smacked her in the face, she steeled herself against the frigid air, and ducked out into the bitter, winter storm.

Guthrad lifted his mangled nose to the wind, sniffing the air for a better sense of the direction the scent had come from. The faint odor of woodsmoke and wet horse spun in the air that whipped in front of his nose, rustling the bristles in his nostrils, giving him a direction in which to travel. His lips pulled back in a smile that resembled a sneer, spittle dripped from his fanged maw as he imagined the kill they would make this night. Holding his fist in the air, he motioned for the other orcs to moved forward quickly.

Guthrad had been tracking the humans since they passed the summit of the pass. Having fled the destruction of Sauron's army at the Black Gate, Guthrad and his band had hidden within the Paths of the Dead, where the Men of Dunharrow had lain cursed until Aragorn had set them free. Now, the tunnels served as a refuge for the fleeing monsters of Mordor. Guthrad and his band were now left to raid and pillage the few travelers who dared cross the mountains, or face the dangers of raiding Rohan's plains. Today, it seemed that luck was on their side, as a group of humans had become trapped in the unprecedented late summer storm, leaving them easy prey for Guthrad and his warg-riding gang.

Racing effortlessly over the snow-covered rocks, the Winter Wargs of Ered Nimrais's widespread paws barely indented the snow, even with riders on their backs. The low, guttural growls of the beasts could barely be heard above the blowing wind but it was no matter, they didn't need their ears or their eyes, just their noses. With a lone howl, Guthrad's white-firred warg split the air, sending the others into a frenzy of bloodlust and excitement. They knew the howl meant that the hunt was beginning.

Lothiriel had chopped an entire pine tree down before anyone noticed that she was missing. Sirion was standing in front of the tent as she dropped the tree she'd been dragging in front of his feet. Looking up at him with a beaming smile, proud of herself for doing something, she ignored his concerned frown.

"Oh, stop it, Sirion. You're starting to remind me of Elphir." She pouted, pursing her lips at him as she rolled her eyes.

"I'm starting to see why he is the way he is…," Sirion jabbed playfully, trying to stop himself from smiling. Now that he knew she was all right, he had to shake his head in disbelief.

She really was something. Her leg was perched up on top of the pine tree as if it were a great bear, and she a young warrior making his first kill. The sight was comic and she, even more so, with her head wrapped in some article of clothing she'd made into a hat, and her body covered by a blanket she'd cut a hole for her head out of. She looked like a ragged, homeless, barbarian.

Sirion couldn't help it. He chuckled.

"What?!" She demanded, frowning now with impatience. She'd thought she'd done something impressive and he was standing there laughing at her.

"It's too bad you didn't try this look when you were trying to chase off suitors. It would have worked splendidly." He teased, laughing fully now at her appearance.

Lothiriel's eyes narrowed thoughtfully as she began to look at herself. She hadn't really thought about how she must look. She was just trying to stay warm. She realized that she must look affright as she remembered that she'd wrapped a woolen shawl around her head as she'd seen the Haradrim do and was wearing a blanket as a coat.

Lothiriel smirked and bent down before Sirion could tell what she was doing. Scooping up a ball of snow, she quickly flung it at him. It hit him with a wet splat, covering the left side of his face with the icy goo.

Shocked at her playful response, Sirion's mouth dropped open for a moment before regrouping. His eyes looked up, a goofy smile on his face, and just as he was about to tell her that she was in serious trouble, he saw something through the flurry of snow in the air.

Lothiriel's face broke out in a wide grin at Sirion's shocked expression. When he looked up with the smile on his face, she knew she was in for it and was about to bolt away from his retaliation, but then his face froze and a shiver of fear went up her spine.

"Lothiriel. Come here. Quickly." Sirion's voice dropped low and she could hear an edge in it that she'd never heard from him before.

Quickly, she moved toward him.

"Go inside and tell the men to get their weapons quickly." Sirion's eyes were locked on the movement he had seen just seconds before. In this whiteout, he didn't want to miss it and let it sneak behind them.

Lothiriel nodded and darted inside, quietly shaking the men awake and telling them that something was outside and Sirion wanted them to arm themselves quickly.

Sirion's eyes narrowed as he scanned the faint horizon. It was easier to see at night in this storm, but the visibility was still minimal. He knew he'd seen movement and it wasn't snow. Now, he swore he could near grunting of some sort and wondered if it was merely an animal checking out the smells of their camp.

It was then that he heard the haunting sound of the single, horrifying howl.


	3. Chapter 3

CHAPTER 3

Lothiriel raced toward the tent as fast as her legs could punch through the snow. Staggering sideways with the weight of the poncho, she almost fell, putting her hand down to steady herself as she continued to scramble, clawing with her hands to help propel her. Her feet sinking deeply into the drifts of snow, she gritted her teeth and dug in harder. She knew Sirion's life depended on her now.

The tent wasn't far away, but it seemed like it was taking hours to reach it. Desperately trudging through the deep dunes of snow, she dug in her toes and leaned forward, unfortunately her foot caught the edge of her makeshift cloak and she sprawled hard onto the snow. Her hands and face smacked the freezing snow, bringing the sting of tears to her eyes. Growling in frustration, she ripped the cloak off over her head, and flung it to the side. Glancing quickly over her shoulder, she saw nothing but the whipping white snow. Frantic now, she crawled on all fours until she could get her feet under her, screaming now as loud as she could for the men in the tent.

"Barator!" Her voice was almost lost in the wind. "Help!"

Stumbling the entire way, Lothiriel continued to scream as she fell through the tent opening.

Barator heard the princess' voice faintly and sat up abruptly, cocking his head to the side to listen. His eyes scanned the tent for her, but he didn't see her. Alarmed, he noticed that Sirion wasn't there as well and immediately jumped to his feet.

Grabbing his sword, he threw the leather of the belt around his waist quickly and started yelling at the men to get up, just as Lothiriel came flying through the tent opening.

"Barator! Wargs! Sirion…" Breathless, she gasped the words before having to inhale, "Sirion is still out there. Help!"

Barator immediately started bellowing orders to the drowsy soldiers within. Quickly, they all jumped to their feet, grabbing their weapons as the sounds of a fight began filtering through the wind and into the tent.

"Oh gods." Lothiriel moaned, hearing the snarls of the wargs tearing into flesh and the shouts of her captain fighting for his life.

Barator didn't even look back, but instead, bolted through the opening and into the blizzard.

The gaping maw that hung over his face was filled with jagged teeth. His shoulders were pinned to the ground by the razor sharp claws of the warg that stood above him. Lying flat on his back, he couldn't reach the sword that'd been knocked from his hand when he was thrown to the ground. Now, all he could do was stare up into the drooling snarl of the creature who had him pinned.

Grabbing the lower jaw of the creature with one hand and the neck with his other, he tried to push its face away from his, but the warg curled its claws inward, piercing the flesh of his shoulder until the pain became too much. The hand on his neck was weakening from the damage the talons were doing to that shoulder and it was all he could do not to black out from the pain.

"Look what we've found." Sirion heard the inhuman, guttural voice and knew he was in real trouble. This wasn't a lone warg roaming the hills, but the war mount of an orc, and he probably wasn't alone either.

Sirion could feel the warmth of his blood pooling around the back of his head, and a renewed sense of survival took over. Growling deeply, he shoved his weakening hand up, grabbing the other side of the warg's jaw. Straining, he began prying the jaws apart, causing the white-furred warg to begin tossing his head back and forth, trying to shake off the desperate human.

Guthrad smirked as he watched the human struggle. He could see the strength leaving him, as he watched his arms tremble with exhaustion. He was fascinated by the blood that now splattered the snow in strange patterns. He enjoyed watching people bleed. There was something… gratifying about it.

He could see the color beginning to fade from the thrashing man, his lips tinged purple, the fingers that clung the jaws of his beast were bone-white because of the death-grip he had on it. He leaned down, dropping his chest over the side of his mount. He was so close, he could almost whisper in the man's ear.

"Can you feel the blood leaving you?" He breathed, his foul breath visible in the frigid air.

Sirion had pried the creature's jaws wide enough now that he felt its jaw pop, but his arms were shaking so badly that he could barely hold on. Taking a deep breath, he drew as much energy as he could and made one final shove against the unhinged jaws.

The yelp of the warg snapped Guthrad out of his fantasy. A burst of rage surged through him and he drew his jagged edged halberd above his head. Sirion heard the pained cry of the fiendish wolf and threw his whole body into tearing its jaws from its hinges. He felt a surge of relief and was about to shove the warg off of him when he saw the edge of the halberd descending toward him.

Eomer sat, mounted on his horse, as he scanned the ridgeline across from their position. He saw the turbulent winds whipping the frost from the peak into a cloud of blinding ice and snow. He hoped that the princess' party saw the top of the mountain and was warmly camped at the base of the mountain. He'd fought with Barator and Sirion. He knew they were seasoned warriors and would take no chances with her safety, but they weren't from an area used to snow and it could be unpredictable.

Eomer prayed that they'd noticed the storm and decided to wait it out.

Eomer turned his horse toward the rest of the men and nudged it forward.

"Are we waiting, milord?" Eogan asked, assuming that he'd decide to stay here instead of trudging ahead into what looked like a nasty blizzard.

Eomer stopped his horse and turned his head once again, toward the pass, and paused. For a moment, he fell silent, listening to the wind sing its eerie song as it wound its way around the jagged peaks. He was about to nod when he heard something else carried on the wind.

"Milord?" Eogan queried.

Eomer held his hand up to silence him and cocked his head to the side. Peeling off his helmet so he could hear better, he held his breath for fear of making any noise. He waited, for what felt like minutes, and then he heard it again.

OWWWWWWWUHHH! Something cried in the distance. It was easily missed, covered by the whining pitch of the gust, but the sound raised the hairs on his arms.

"Do you hear that?" Eomer whispered to Eogan, who'd fallen completely silent.

Nudging his horse forward to sidle up to his lord, Eogan turned his head to listen.

OWW OWWWWWWUHHH! This time, the sound was sharper and followed by an excited flurry of barks and yips. Not the kind that come from a pack of dogs or wolves, but something far more sinister. The barks were throaty and wet, the yips sinister and ghostly.

"Wargs." Eomer snarled, jerking the reigns of his mount and instantly jolting the horse into action.

Eomer's horse whipped his head in defiance before leaping forward to carry its owner up the trail.

"We ride!" Eomer shouted as the men quickly fell in line behind him.


End file.
